


The last stand

by Embyr_Fyrcursed



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embyr_Fyrcursed/pseuds/Embyr_Fyrcursed
Summary: My gaming group played The Pathfinder module The Stone Thief every Monday in 2019. This was the final battle, and it was amazing. The final scene, where our sorcerer faced down the mammoth living dungeon struck my brain, and I had to write it out.





	The last stand

The six adventurers gathered themselves, shaken from the rapid ejection from the dungeon's core. The shaken ground erupted in front of them as a piercing scream rent the air. Horrified, they watched the dungeon manifest — pulling together rock, buildings, and the essence of the Stone Thief into a mammoth draconic creature, towering stories above their heads.

"Fuck." No one was sure who said it aloud, but each was thinking it. 

After what felt like an eternity, the dungeon stood, fully formed. For a heartbeat, time stood still as the group stared into the gaping maw above them. With an almost audible clap, motion resumed. As one, the group leaped into action; their reflexes honed from the journey to this moment.

"Elia, Zeruel, get it started!" Atrius screamed. His skin darkened to its natural ruddy tan and his human seeming dropped away as he pulled every ounce of his tiefling magic into readiness. In the same breath, he drew his swords and spat a crackling spell into the air. A glowing red sigil hurtled across the ground, slamming into the dragon's chest.

Facing each other, Dragonborn and Asamir raised their arms and began the complicated chant that formed the ritual of binding. Death magic spun in spidery strands from the necromancer's hands as she struggled to concentrate. The cleric's usually soft glow strengthened, forming a golden nimbus around the dark wisps of death magic surrounding them. The magic of life met the magic of death, and for a second, both feared it would rend them apart. With sheer strength of will, the pair forced the magic to mesh together, creating a power not seen in this age. 

Even as the casters began their work, the rest of their companions moved to defend, knowing time was needed to cast the complicated ritual.  
Moira moved back, her nimble fingers plucking at the air as she desperately wove the threads of fate, looking for the one she needed, the one that would bring about the outcome they had to have. Not just their own fate, but that of the entire world balanced on their actions.

Sparing one glance at her bonded as he stood mired in the jagged cocoon of ritual magic, Nika leaped into the air. The magic within her boots lifted her high above his head as she made her stand.  
"I hate this, I hate this, I hate this," she muttered under her breath, facing off against the imposing creature. Every instinct screamed at her to get down, get away, find a hiding spot, and protect herself first, but she stood her ground, unleashing the chaos the Prince of Shadows had birthed within her. 

The Elf Queen's magic whipped through her, slamming into the enemy and leaving her momentarily breathless. Green waves of magic first surrounded then sank into the monster, and it screeched in agony as thorny vines tore its flesh. Glowing white eyes the size of houses flared across the space between them, filling her with panic. 

As the former mage hunter's terrified yet determined scream cut the air above, Draal readied himself below. With a focus honed from his decades of torture at his dark sister's hand, the drow sorcerer reached for his magic. Jagged lightning speared from his hands, striking true. Chunks of stone bigger than horses rained down on the battlefield with each strike; one more hazard adding to the danger they faced.

Atrius ran forward, his fiendish face almost gleeful. His training took over, shunting away all emotions, allowing nothing but the thrill of the fight to emerge. Twin swords trailing red light carved wicked lines in the air. With another hissed power word, the cruelly beautiful patterns formed sigils, lending strength to his blades as they crashed into his monstrous opponent. 

Even as the half-mad mage's spell ripped at the beast, Elia's undead dragon took flight — compelled to protect its master as she stood helpless and bound to the ritual. As large as the skeletal minion was, it dwarfed in comparison to the dragon creature ahead. It dodged around a massive limb formed from stolen towers and released its mighty breath weapon. Frigid flames engulfed a depressingly small section, and the beast appeared to ignore any damage done. Undeterred, the smaller dragon wheeled for a second attempt.

With the speed and gravity of an avalanche, the creature swung a mighty claw at the figures on the ground. The heroes dodged, but Zeruel — engrossed in the ritual — was unable to avoid the stray chunks of masonry that slammed into his side. The breath whooshed from his body, and he fell to one knee, desperately holding the ritual together. 

Elia screamed wordlessly as the strain pulled at her body. Her mind teetered on the precipice, balancing on a knife’s edge of anguish. Somehow, she held on long enough for her partner to regain his feet and pick up the incantation once more. 

“My queen, help us,” Zeruel gasped. Foreign magic bloomed within him, extending to the necromancer across from him. For the Cleric, it felt warm and welcoming, the Elf Queen’s favor bringing him strength and resolve. For the Necromancer, it was an aberration, an intrusion into her soul that yet buoyed her. The pair stood firm, racing towards the climax of the ritual. 

Seeing the danger the casters were in, Nika became furious. Her magic responded, lashing out with a tentacle of force. The golem shuddered, more masonry falling, but it raged on. Its massive limbs swung wide, debris doing more damage with each swing.

“Crap, I really don’t want to do this…” Atrius dodged a chunk of stone and did the one thing he swore he would never do. He called on the favor owed to him by the Diabolist, knowing that his former paramour may not respond well. “Lady Diabolist, hear my call! Help us now!”

A familiar wicked laugh echoed through his mind. “How easily you break your vow, my dear swordmage. But I already knew that, didn’t I?” Her displeasure thundered across his thoughts. “However...I am no oathbreaker. You are welcome. Never call on me again. I will not be so accommodating, should you disturb me again.” With that, she channeled her magic through him, leaving the tiefling reeling.  
He had moments to wonder if it had been worth it before the dark power surrounded the beast and constricted, freezing it mid-strike. His breath gushed out in relief, his body relaxing. Unfortunately, his ease was premature, and he cursed aloud. The magic strained to contain its captive, visibly thinning in places. It seemed not even the cruel Queen's magic could hold the Stone Thief for long. Hopefully, the extra seconds would be all they needed.

Nika, Draal, and Atrius continued their attacks, desperately trying to do enough damage to bring the behemoth to its knees and give the ritual casters the time they needed. They only managed a single spell each before the Stone Thief tore free, the Diabloist's magic shredding into nothingness. 

As the Sorcerer's spell hit, the Stone Thief shuddered, its massive bulk outlined in the sapphire blast. Consciousness slipped from its visage, and the others felt the loss of their opponent. The ground trembled as the death of the living dungeon began the collapse of its structure, inevitably leading to the prophesied cataclysmic explosion that would end the age. 

Still wholly submerged in the ritual, Elia felt something swell through her, tearing part of her consciousness from her task. Her body contorted, twisting to the side, her arm reaching out without her consent. Dark power — mightier than anything she could dream of possessing erupted from her fingertips. Death magic speared across the field, slamming into the falling dragon and interrupting its death throes. Awareness returned to its being, and the titanic collapse ceased. Silence fell, and she realized the Lich King — Lord of the undead — had sent his power through her, using her as his avatar to stop the annihilation of his intended kingdom. The dungeon, no longer dying, hovered just on the side of life. Slowly, the structure began to pull itself back together. 

"Elia!" The urgent scream drew her attention back to her magic, still entwined with the divine magic of the Asamir across from her. His face was tight, the strain of holding the ritual too much for one being. Quickly she plunged back into the spell, taking up her share of the burden again. Zeruel stood tall once more, and they fell back into the rhythm of the magic. A tiny fraction of his consciousness was aware of the Chaos mage touching down beside him, and felt relief that she was alive. Later he would be amused that his self absorbed and usually reticent bonded placed herself as his shield, but for now knowing she lived was all he could absorb.

An eternity passed in the next few heartbeats. The two casters felt the psychic blow as the ritual reached completion, and turned as one to Draal. United through the spell, they raised their arms and spoke the last incantation, manifesting a sickly red-colored ball of pure energy. Drawing back their arms, they hurled it towards the Drow sorcerer, sending the last of their energy with it, before slumping to the ground, drained. 

With that look, Draal knew his time was up. There was no longer any other option than to go through with the ritual and become a part of the Stone Thief. Not allowing his doubts and fears to take over, he moved like the wind, his Drow heritage giving him much needed speed as he sprinted towards the great beast. 

Behind him, he could hear his friends shriek the ritual's climax and delved deep inside himself, drawing on his inner strength, his core, honed in fire. With one last burst of speed, he reached the side of the creature, just as the great globe of ritual magic struck. Drow and dragon alike enveloped in crackling magic. Every fiber of his being became electrified. He felt his self torn apart, and worse, his mind attacked. Desperately, he fought back, wrestling with the spirit of the Stone Thief for domination. One of them would take control, and the consequences of failure would be catastrophic. 

The internal battle was evident to the onlookers as magic snapped frenetically around the pair. Glowing magical chains wrapped around Draal’s arms, stretching out to entangle the dungeon’s golem. All watched helplessly as the Drow alone fought for the fate of the world. Seconds passed. A full minute. Two. Suddenly, the blazing magic sank into the pair in its center. Drow and creature stood, facing each other. Faint chains, visible only to the magical senses, spanned between them. 

The Fateweaver moved first. "Draal?" Her voice trembled, betraying the worry they all felt. 

Deliberately the drow turned, his lithe body straightening from rictus. Facing them, he slowly opened his eyes, a blinding glow spilling forth. The others shielded their eyes, flinching away from the glare. Gradually the light lessened to a tolerable level. 

When he spoke, his voice echoed with a new depth, a gravelly growl suggesting an immense size well beyond his stature: "We. Are. One." Something moved within his gaze, a changed consciousness. Those watching sensed the link that had forged between drow and living dungeon. 

With that, the golem behind him began to unmake, melding back into the earth. Draal nodded to his companions and turned, walking away. The ground opened in front of him, forming stairs at his unspoken command. The new lord Stone Thief led his exhausted but alive party into the depths of his new home to recover.

___

**Author's Note:**

> My gaming group played The Pathfinder module The Stone Thief every Monday in 2019. This was the final battle, and it was amazing. The final scene, where our sorcerer faced down the mammoth living dungeon struck my brain, and I had to write it out.


End file.
